


I Have Been Blind

by Merelymine



Category: DCU - Comicverse
Genre: Crossdressing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-15
Updated: 2009-12-15
Packaged: 2017-10-04 11:20:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merelymine/pseuds/Merelymine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i> He hasn't seen Tim in four months, only knows that he's not dead because Oracle has been keeping her all-knowing and diligent eyes on him.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Have Been Blind

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place sometime in the near future, canon wise. Also, I have no idea what the Bat books are doing right now, but it doesn't seem like there's a general consensus as to where they are living. So for the purposes of this story they're living in the manor and working out of the cave, because that's just easier.

The ballroom shines under the chandeliers, just enough sparkle to brighten up the polished wood floor and trace the shape of the gilded fixtures. It catches the edges of the champagne flutes that are floating around the room, balanced on trays that might as well be held up by magic, for all that the wait staff is as unobtrusive as good money can buy. It's not enough light to pick up the corners of the expansive room, or the small tables crowded with important men. Important men who were undoubtedly making important, and more importantly,_ dirty_ deals.

It’s nothing that Dick hasn’t seen a million times. He grabs a sparkling glass off of a tray as it passes him, more to give himself something to do than because he wants a drink, and plasters a vapid, pleasant smile on his face. He’s there to meet a contact, not to enjoy himself.

Not that he ever does at these sorts of things. He can remember telling Tim once, back when they were traveling around Europe together, waiting for Bruce to find what he was looking for in that cave and learning how to be brothers again, that money was sometimes a necessary evil.

Tim had accepted it as he accepted all lessons, with a serious solemnity that meant he was filing the information away for later use. Dick had ruffled his hair in an effort to wash some of the seriousness off of his face and Tim had ducked away, smiling a little. Like he knew it was what Dick needed.

But that was then. He hasn’t seen Tim in four months, only knows that he’s not _dead_ because Oracle has been keeping her all-knowing and diligent eyes on him.

He doesn’t want to spy. He wants to be able to let Tim go—he pushed him out of the nest because he wanted him to grow, to become his own man and step out of Bruce's shadow. He was ready to let him go, had expected some sort of rebellion because Tim has never dealt with change well, never been able to accept death, but it’s terrifying, the not knowing. Dick wasn’t exactly ready for it himself, and thinks he might understand a little better how Bruce felt, the ache of pushing someone away in a blindly stupid effort to keep them close.

He only managed to drive him away, halfway around the world at the last news from Oracle, and Dick's been beating himself up for it every moment since he left.

He doesn't need to dwell on it. Not when he has a job to do.

He scans the crowd again, looking for some sign of the person he’s supposed to be meeting. Barbara had not been very forthcoming with the details of the exchange, simply saying, “You’ll recognize her when you see her,” and sending him off. There had been a stifled sort of glee in her tone, and Dick could only wonder what that meant.

It probably meant that she’d been spending way too much time with Black Canary, now that Dinah was a single woman again.

He doesn’t, despite Barbara’s cryptic assurances, know what he’s looking for and it’s making him cranky. He takes a sip of his drink, frowning at the way the bubbles tickle his nose and the back of his throat, and the sensation makes him think of Tim again. The way his nose had crinkled up in distaste at his stolen sip of champagne at that very same party where Dick had tried to teach him something about the benefits of being a Wayne, how he’d set the glass back on a passing tray when he thought no one was looking.

He’s so lost in thought about Tim that for a moment he thinks he sees him, across the room and laughing, but then he focuses and realizes he’s looking at a young woman.

Her hair is long and dark, curling at the ends where it rests against her exposed back. She’s wearing a long red dress, the scooped back of it plunging so low as to almost be indecent, and there’s a long slit hidden in the unevenly layered skirt that shows a whole lot of leg every time she shifts a certain way. She’s gorgeous in that thin and muscled way that he knows most women have to fight to be, and Dick can’t help but watch her as she flirts her way through a crowd of men, laughing and coy.

She steps away from the group of people, and for a moment she's alone, illuminated by a patch of brighter light. Face turned up, and she seems to find him unerringly, eyes catching his own and _winking_.

It takes his brain a moment to catch up. That _is_ Tim, dressed up so well that he would've never guessed it was him had he not been caught staring. Of course Tim probably knew right where he was, knew who he was here to meet, and Dick's really going to have to have a talk with Barbara about the little games she likes to play and how they're not funny. At all.

He feels like he should give Alfred an award of some kind, because he knows this is his handiwork, and it's done so well that if it wasn't Tim-- hell, if he hadn't just been _thinking_ about Tim, then he would've never guessed.

Of course, now that he knows that it's Tim that he’s watching, he can discern a pattern to the movements and the way he's circling around, moving in a spiral and obviously looking for a mark.

He’s still watching a few minutes later when Tim finds it. He watches him laugh, his hand on an older man’s arm. Tim's head is thrown back, and Dick feels himself heat up all over. He's never seen him so confident in any sort of social situation before. Never seen him so at ease in his own skin. Even when he’s fighting he’s still clearly thinking, three steps ahead and holding himself tense and ready, his body a weapon to be used.

Maybe this is the same, Tim using his sexuality as a weapon, honed and sharp and dangerous.

He downs the last of his drink in one long swallow and grabs another glass off of a nearby tray.

And waits.  


  
*

  
An hour later Tim excuses himself from the man’s company and heads for the bathrooms. Less than a minute later he comes back out, taking a circuitous route around the ballroom that leads him right past Dick.

Who catches Tim’s arm as he walks by, pulls him in close and puts on his best charming smile. “Hey gorgeous, dance with me?”

Tim looks him up and down, making it obvious that he’s checking Dick out, eyes lingering on his mouth before he shrugs off Dick’s hand and then catches it in his own. He presses even closer as someone pushes past him from behind, looks up at Dick and licks his lips and all Dick can think is _red red red_.

“Maybe later, handsome.” Tim is grinning, his voice not far off from the way Dick remembers it, low and sweet and maybe forced just a bit higher. “I’m a busy girl after all.” And then he’s gone, weaving his way through the crowd, long hair swinging across his back.

It takes Dick a full thirty seconds to realize Tim has left a crumpled bit of paper in his hand. He stands there dumbly, a frozen island in the crowd, stuck on the way Tim’s eyes had seemed bright and clear in a way that Dick once thought he might never see again, the way his smile looked genuinely happy and amused.

So far removed from the last memory Dick has of him, hurt and angry and grieving, that Dick almost can’t believe it. His hands clench, crushing the note even more, the rough crumple of paper against his palms reminding him that he has a job to do.

Thankfully he has the presence of mind to find somewhere more secluded than the ballroom proper before he opens up the note, ducking out onto one of the balconies. No one in their right mind would be coming out here; the air is frigidly cold and Dick’s breath puffs out in a cloud as he exhales. He unfolds the paper to find a single name written in Tim’s familiar and precisely neat block print.

In _eyeliner_, and Dick almost laughs, breathing it out at the last second and leaning back against the cold stone wall.

“Oracle,” he whispers.

“_Yes, handsome_?” Barbara answers in his ear, using her own voice instead of Oracle’s distorted electronic monotone, probably so he’ll be able to hear just how deeply amused she is.

Dick groans and rolls his eyes.

“_Did you like my surprise? I’ve got to say, I haven’t seen you that flustered in a long time_.”

Dick knocks his head back against the wall, once. “How do you even have cameras here?”

“_Mmm… that’s for me to know and you to find out._”

“Heh. Well, as thrilled as I am to be sharing yet another embarrassing and awkward moment in my life with you, the teasing will have to wait. I’ve got a lead for you.”

“_Teasing later. Got it, boss._”

He wants to tell her to stop calling him ‘boss’, but he figures that there’s no point in it, considering that it didn’t work the first hundred or so times he tried. She’s intent on doing it, no matter how weird it makes him feel.

He gives her the name, and he can hear her typing furiously on her end of the line. Hopefully this will lead them another step closer to taking down one of the many little gangs that have popped up in the last couple of months.

"_Good work_," she says, voice clipped and distracted. "_I've got someone on recon, so why don't you head home? I'm sure Tim would love to get out of those clothes._"

"But shouldn't I..."

"_I've got it covered. Go meet Tim in the lobby, he's waiting for you._"

"But..."

"_And if I catch you, hell, _either _of you, out tonight, I swear to God I will make your lives hell for a month. Think of it as a vacation._"  
_  
But I'm Batman_, Dick thinks but doesn't say, because there's really no use arguing. Besides, it would sound a little silly, wouldn't it? Batman is not petulant, and he does not whine.

Dick pushes off of the wall and heads back inside. Apparently it's time to get out of here, hopefully before Tim has more phone numbers than he knows what to do with.  


  
*

  
The smile Tim gives him when he finally makes it to the lobby is one of his sheepish little brother smiles, the one that says 'I know you're going to tease me about this forever and ever so can we just get it over with?' and it looks so incongruous against the make-up and the long, dark hair.

The fact that Tim's smiling at all almost makes him stop short, heart arrested mid-beat. There was a part of him, the part of him that leads him to sulking on rooftops and trying to drown out misery with his fists, that was convinced that Tim would never smile at him again. He doesn't miss a step, though, and only stops when they're close enough to touch.

Dick raises an eyebrow and Tim rolls his eyes. Tugs on the sleeve of Dick's ridiculously well-tailored suit and says, "Well, come on. Let's go then."

Dick's never sure what makes him say stupid things. He knows he just doesn't think sometimes before he speaks, and that's certainly what makes him say "Are you that eager to go home with me?" without realizing how it sounds. Considering. And now Barbara is laughing at him through the earpiece, but it's sort of worth it for the blush that breaks out across Tim's cheeks.

Except that there are people around, and he doesn't know if Tim intends to keep this alias or not; doesn't know if her reputation is at stake in any way. He's about to apologize, stutter out something awkward and contrite, when Tim tugs on his arm again, hard enough to pull him closer. Looks up at him with heavy-lidded eyes and that _blush_ and says, "I don’t know, how badly do you want me to come?"

Barbara's laughter turns absolutely delighted at the same time as Dick's mouth goes dry, dry, dry, a million arid deserts unfolding on his tongue, heat breaking out over his own face.

He clears his throat. "Well, then. Let's go."

Dick isn't in the mood to wait on the valet service, so he snags his keys when the guy's back is turned and heads down to the VIP parking area with Tim, his hand resting at the small of his back as they push through the crowd. Both because he can and because there are so many people around and he should--

He can look a little possessive, right now.

He's a little desperate for the touch, confirmation under his fingertips that Tim is actually here, in Gotham. He feels entitled to it in a way that he's not exactly comfortable with. The skin at the small of Tim's back shouldn't feel like it belongs to him. It shouldn't feel so right, warm and alive and making the pads of his fingers feel terribly sensitive.

The crowd thins once they reach the underground parking lot, and he really has no reason to keep touching Tim so he drops his hand. Curls it into a loose fist at his side.

They're almost to the car when Dick hears footsteps behind them.

Oracle says, "_You're not alone, kids_," as Dick turns, not a split second before Tim pushes him up against the car and kisses him, so he's not as surprised as he could be to find himself with his hands on Tim's back and Tim's tongue in his mouth.

Tim's hands are strong in his hair, like he's afraid that Dick's not going to get it. Like he has to hold him there, but Dick just closes his eyes and leans into it, opens his mouth against Tim's and kisses back.

"_Oh my,_" Barbara says, and Dick can feel himself blushing again.

He cracks one eye open and he can see, peripherally, the older man Tim was laughing with before, the one who he probably got most of his information from, paused and watching them jealously.

Dick closes his eyes and pulls Tim closer, one hand at the small of his back and the other moving up to cup his shoulder blade, bare skin against his palms. He can feel Tim breaking out in goose bumps all over, moaning into his mouth and shivering under his hands.

Dick can't help it. He wants to be better than this, but he just feels so greedy. He kisses Tim harder, and he doesn't give a second thought to the wig or the heels or the dress, the imaginary girl under his hands, because that's not what he cares about. What he wants. He wants Tim, his little brother and his friend, and he can't believe that he's never even considered this before.

Tim's hands, strong and gentle in his hair, and his mouth, open and soft under his own.  
_  
"Jesus, Grayson,"_ Barbara breathes in his ear, and then: _"Hmmm. Do you think you can turn to your left a little, this camera can't... No, never mind, I found a better one._"

And now this is being recorded for posterity, or possibly just Dinah. He can't bring himself to care at the moment, because there's the sound of footsteps moving away and that means this is going to stop.

He doesn't want to stop.

Tim starts to pull back, and Dick can't help this either-- he nips Tim's lower lip gently, just for that shudder, another shiver of Tim's back under his hands before he lets go.

Tim stumbles back a step. His cheeks are stained red and he's looking down, completely failing to meet Dick's eyes, and it makes him want to reach out. Pull his chin up and make him look. Anything to make this okay.

He steps forward and Tim takes a deep, shuddering, breath.

He wants--

"_You are absolutely _covered_ in red lipstick_," Barbara says, snickering in his ear.

When he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand it comes back red, and all it takes is that moment of distraction for Tim to move. Circle around the car and slide in the passenger side, and there's nothing Dick can do but open the door and get in too.

As soon as they're on the road and heading out of the city Tim gingerly pulls off the wig, hissing as it catches his hair. It gets tossed carelessly into the back seat as Tim leans back, carefully stretching out his legs.

Dick really doesn't know how he didn't notice the _shoes_ before. Sharp stiletto heels that are the same red as the dress, with thick, crisscrossed laces that go all the way up to his knees. They're the kind of shoes that could make a priest develop a foot fetish.

He expects Tim to take them off, but he doesn't. Instead he just flexes each foot and rotates each ankle in turn, and Dick has to remind himself to keep his eyes on his driving.

He watches the road, the light of the city striping shadows and patterns over his hands where they rest on the steering wheel as he tries to think of something to say. He's feeling his usual need to make some sort of bad joke, some kind of pun or quip to make this better, but he can't think of anything.

He should be able to think of _something._ This is _Tim_, for God's sake, his little brother in all but blood, and he shouldn't still be stuck on the way his skin felt so right under his hands and his own stupid jealousy. The need to have and possess. To take.

He drums his fingers on the steering wheel. Tries to say something, _anything-_\- closes his mouth and tries again--

"_So you know he's in love with you, right?_" Barbara asks, voice mild and conversational. It takes a moment for him to understand what she's saying, who _he_ is and what she means, but there's really no one else she could be talking about, and then it takes all of his focus not to drive them clean off of the road.

"_He's never said anything, of course, but it's obvious,_" she continues.

Obvious. That's just--

"_Well, obvious to anyone who isn't, you know, you._"

\--ridiculous. Okay, so maybe not.

"_So listen to me, boy oblivious. I'm feeling charitable at the moment._"

He can hear the steady click of her fingers on the keyboard, and of course she'd be multi-tasking. No need to concentrate solely on making Dick's brain explode, is there? He feels like his whole body is a screaming question mark. He sees Tim shift in his seat out of the corner of his eye, and tries to figure out how to think this through without giving anything away.

Barbara's certainly not making it easy. It seems she's really warmed up to her subject.

"_It's one of those always sort of things, I think. Haven't you ever had anything like that, Dick? Someone that you'll love forever no matter what else, or _who_ else, happens in your life? Someone who's always in your heart even if you can't be with them? Even when you can't _stand_ them anymore?_

"_Tell me you don't and I'll call you a liar._"

She knows the answer, of course. Knows that for the longest time it was _her_, that she was the answer to that question. That in a lot of ways she always will be, because that's what always means.

"_Hmm. So you can imagine how much it hurt him when you shoved him away_."

His teeth clench. That's not-- He hadn't meant--

He'd needed a partner, an _equal. _He didn't need Damian as much as Damian had needed _him_, a case of Robin needing a Batman, but Dick had _needed_ Tim, and only managed to push him away.

"_Oh, I know that's not what it was, but you boys are so damn bad at communicating. That had to be what it felt like to him._"

He's at a loss as to what to do with all this new information. If he's been that person for Tim, that always... well.

He can't just let that go, can he?

Should he?

His immediate thought is that Tim is seventeen; he can't possibly know what he wants, no seventeen-year-old does. His second thought is that this is _Tim_. Of course he knows what he wants, he's probably the most self-aware teenager that Dick's ever known.

His unasked questions will have to go unanswered; Barbara has fallen silent.

Except for how she totally hasn't. Tim shifts awkwardly in his seat and blows out a low, steady breath, and Dick has no idea what she's saying to him, but she's definitely saying something. He's not sure he wants to know what it is.

He takes his earpiece out and holds his hand out to Tim, who hurriedly pulls out his own and drops it into Dick's palm.

Dick tosses them both into the backseat, where they land on top of the wig. Tim finally looks at him for the first time since they kissed, smiling quiet and shy.

The rest of the drive is blissfully quiet. However the hum of the road and Tim's even breathing do nothing to still the turmoil in Dick's head.

He takes the car into the cave out of habit, even though it's not a Batmobile. They are returning from a mission, and Tim, at least, will need to write up a report for Barbara.

Dick shrugs off his jacket and takes off the tie as soon as he gets out of the car, slinging them carelessly over the back of a chair near his workstation. There are a few things he can work on, little projects to complete and notes to type up, but he doesn't really feel like it at the moment. Instead he pokes around the cave a little, looking to see if there's anything that requires his attention. At one of the tables there’s a new type of liquid immersed Kevlar that looks like it’s both stronger and more flexible than what he’s using now, something that Alfred had tried to show him last week, if he remembers correctly. He hadn't had the chance to examine it, then, and he kept getting distracted--

Movement from the bank of computers catches Dick's attention. Tim is stretching, hands clasped over his head as he arches back against the chair. Dick moves towards him, eyes fixed on the smooth curve of his upturned throat, before he can give it a second thought.

Or a first one.

It's the sort of thing that always gets him in trouble, and he knows it. Acting without thinking, and that only ever works out for him when he's fighting, when he can rely on his body to know what it's doing.

He doesn't know what he's doing now.

Tim turns and smiles at him when he gets close. "I really need a shower," he says as he stands. "You wouldn't believe the amount of make-up it took to cover everything."

Dick can imagine. Every scar that's new and pink. The older ones as well, white and spider-webbed across his skin, and Dick wants to see it. Wants to wash it off _himself_, watch as the water and soap reveal everything, every mark and every fresh bruise. All the evidence that Tim belongs to this family, to this life. That he belongs to Dick.

Tim seems to have noticed him... wanting. He tilts his head to the side, suddenly so much more intent. Focused. "What is it?"

Dick wants, very badly, just to hug him. Hold him close and tight and tell him how sorry he is, how much he fucked up and how much he wants him home. He doesn't. Tim's always been a little skittish, and while he may have always allowed Dick a little more leeway with that sort of thing than he he did anyone else, Dick doesn't want to make him freeze up.

Of course, he doesn't really trust himself with that kind of contact right now, considering how much he also wants to pull him close and kiss him.

Tim is watching him curiously, waiting for a reply.

"Nothing," Dick says. He shakes his head and smiles. "It's nothing." He could absolutely let this go, forget all about it and write it off as some sort of hormonal freak out, and he probably should but--  
_  
So you know he's in love with you, right?_

"I never got that dance," Dick says instead. Sometimes doing what you should do is really overrated.

"Oh. I-- I don't--" Tim looks almost shocked, blushing again and ducking his head, and that splash of color across his cheeks is just going to _kill_ Dick. "I left the wig in the car," he says plaintively.

So flustered, and that's just too damn cute.

Dick grins. "I didn't want to dance with _her_, anyway. I wanted to dance with you."

He takes a step forward. Tim stays where he is, obviously uncertain and surprised, but he's still smiling a little and he lets Dick take his hand and pull him close.

"This is ridiculous," he says, but the smile betrays his words.

"Humor me." Dick tugs him closer.

The heels make Tim only the barest bit shorter than he is, so that when he wraps his arms around Dick's neck and leans into him it brings them almost cheek to cheek. He's still blushing a little, and Dick can feel the heat of it radiating out of his skin.

"There's no music," Tim says, his voice low.

"Then pretend," Dick says. "I'm not expecting anything fancy." _I just wanted to hold you again_, he doesn't say. It's not something he knows how to say, not to Tim.

"Ah. Is that what we're doing?" Tim tenses a little under his hands. "Pretending?"

And that’s the base of it, the heart of all the questions Dick’s had for himself tonight. It’s not the dress. It’s nothing but Tim, and how much he has missed him, and how much he wants him home.

"No," he says, and Tim relaxes, leaning into him again.

They're so close, too close to really be dancing at all, just turning in slow circles.

"I was watching you all night," Dick says, half out of need to break the silence and half because he wants Tim to understand. There's a watchfulness to him that reminds Dick of a small animal, waiting to run at the first sign of danger. "Even before I realized it was you, I was watching. And that was my part tonight, to keep watch, but once I realized... it was fascinating, you know, how different you were.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure." _ You don't have to ask _hangs in the air, left unsaid except for the surprise in his voice.

"What was it? The dress, the disguise? Or something else?"

"I'm not sure I follow," Tim says, forehead creased in a familiar expression that means he's sincerely baffled. Dick would lay money that he's going to have a permanent line between his eyebrows before he's thirty.

"It's just-- I've never seen you so comfortable with your body. Moving with such purpose, you seemed, I don't know..."

Tim's expression turns thoughtful. "Hmm. I know what you mean, I guess. I think-- what is it?"

Dick's staring again. Staring at Tim's mouth and he doesn't even realize it until Tim catches him.

"I really want to kiss you again," Dick whispers before he can talk himself out of it. "I keep thinking. I--"

"You can," Tim says quickly, pink flash of tongue as he licks his lips. "You-- you should."

As Dick leans in everything narrows down, his awareness focused solely on Tim, the space between their bodies and all of the places they are and aren't touching.

Dick watches Tim's eyes fall closed in a sort of slow motion, his eyelashes fluttering into a perfect smudge of black against his cheek. The moment stretches out; the brush of Tim's fingers at his neck and every single millimeter of space that falls away between them.

Tim's mouth opening under his own, sweet and yielding.

There are no distractions this time. No one to show off to, nothing to do but to kiss Tim the way he wants to.

Slowly, tracing the curve of his lip with his tongue until Tim's mouth opens more, letting him in.

Letting Dick taste him, the faint waxy remnants of his lipstick and underneath that just Tim, sweet and alive.

Warm mouth, strangely familiar already. He's already accustomed to the way Tim kisses, careful and slow and thorough, and it makes Dick wonder what it would take for him to lose it. How far gone he would have to be before he lets go of all that control.

Before he can do more than think about it, Tim pulls away and steps away, out of Dick's arms. He's biting his lower lip, eyes calm and studying Dick's face.

"I still really need that shower," he says quietly.

"Oh." It takes Dick a moment to understand. "I'm sure Alfred's already put your things in your room."

Tim nods his head. He looks surprised, like he assumed his room would be taken away as soon as he was gone, and Dick wants to tell him that this is home. It will always be home, but Tim's already moving away, turning and heading for the stairs, and Dick can't do anything but watch him go. Rooted to the spot, hands flexing uselessly at his sides. He doesn't know if he should follow. Doesn't know if he can.

Tim stops at the foot of the stairs. Turns around and raises his eyebrows.

"Well, are you coming?"  
_  
Oh_. Maybe. _Definitely_ maybe, and his brain may be a dirty, filthy place, but one step forward is all it takes to get him that smile again. The new one, sharp and affectionate all at once, and Tim doesn't wait for him, heading up the stairs.

Dick lets him lead the way, telling himself it's so he can watch him walk up all those steps in those shoes, when he really knows he's taking the time to let himself catch up, a little.

The manor is dark. It's after midnight, and Alfred is undoubtedly catching up on what little sleep he can during this break that Barbara has forced on them. Damian is once again being patched up by his mother and her people, and while Dick isn't happy that he'd been reckless enough to get himself terribly injured, he's grateful to be without the distraction.

He takes his time following Tim upstairs, letting the house and all of it's familiar shadows soothe some of the nervousness out of him, the path to his old room one he's walked so many times he could probably do it blindfolded.

Blindfolded and on his hands.

For a moment he's tempted to try it, to let the activity burn away a little of the ragged energy running under his skin. He doesn't, though, and soon enough he's standing in the doorway of his old bedroom.

Dick steps into the room just as Tim turns on the bedside lamp, bathing the room in a dim and golden light. He shuts the door and stands there, watching Tim drag his fingers along the polished wood of the table, an obviously nostalgic gesture that makes Dick ache to touch him.

He doesn't move, watching as Tim turns to look at himself critically in the mirror against the wall.

The tension in the room is incredible, and for once tonight Dick knows exactly what it is. Knows exactly what is happening. It's _that_ moment. The in-between moment, when you've decided you're going to have sex with someone, but before you actually get there. He wasn't sure it was really going to happen until now, until he stepped into the room and shut the door. He swallows against the sudden tightness in his throat and goes to sit on the edge of the bed, pulling his shoes and socks off.

"I think it's the shoes," Tim says, as though they were still in the middle of a conversation.

"What you were asking me earlier," Tim clarifies. He doesn't look at Dick. "It's not really the dress." He smoothes his hand down the front of it thoughtfully, making the fabric pull and shift against him.

"Tim."

Tim ignores him. "Shoes are powerful, especially heels." He moves his hand to his hip, cocks it out a little, and that's just... a really inspiring pose. "They make you stand differently. Make you hold yourself differently."

"Tim," Dick says again.

Tim's reflection in the mirror frowns a little, but he turns around.

"What do you want? Can you show me?" He feels rooted to the spot, his hands clenching the edge of the mattress.

Tim totally has his 'game face' on. He looks like Robin before a fight he's not sure he can win, and Dick knows that means he's uncertain, worried and a little scared, and he hates it. Hates that he's the reason that look's on Tim's face, and normally he'd do anything to erase it, but he can't. He can't move. Not until Tim does.

Dick needs Tim to show him, he needs this to be real, to make sense--

"Please, little brother."  
_  
That _makes Tim move, unzipping a tiny zipper at the back of his dress and shrugging it off. It pools around his feet in a sea of delicate red and Tim steps out of it, steps forward, and Dick doesn't even have a chance to think about the fact that Tim is wearing _red lacy underwear_, because Tim is actually moving.

Placing his hands on Dick's shoulders, planting a knee next to his thigh and crawling into his lap to kiss him, and Dick knows this is exactly how Tim's always imagined doing it, nice and slow. Determined to show him, even as his back trembles under Dick's hands.

This kiss is different. Different from the kiss in the parking lot, which was Tim being aggressive, showing off to a certain audience, and different from the kiss in the cave, where Tim had surrendered under his mouth. This is how _Tim_ wants to kiss him, hands shaking in Dick's hair, and Dick knows it now. It's more of a realization than Barbara telling him, it's in the tremor and flex of muscle under his palms and the way it feels like Tim is trying to memorize this.

Tim loves him.

Tim_ loves_ him. He doesn't know how he never noticed it before. Doesn't know how he never _needed_ it before, but there it is, quiet and bright and real. Just like Tim.

This is not something he has to think about. Doesn't have to analyze it because it's true, factual and honest, and there's nothing in him that will allow him to do anything but respond in kind.

Because of course he loves Tim. Little brother, family love, but it would be so, so easy to let himself fall. To give in and let the force of Tim's feelings drag him down too, and it's just, really, nothing he has to think about. He made his decision already, made it when he followed Tim up the stairs or maybe even before that, when Barbara was busy telling someone else's secrets in his ear.

He's not good at casual relationships. That's never stopped him from trying, even though every one night stand he's ever had has ended in one sort of disaster or another, and he can't do that this time. Can't make that same mistake.

He _needs_ to pay attention to this kiss. Tim's small mouth opening against his, breath and heat and damp as Tim exhales through kisses that are still open-mouthed and sweet.

He kisses back, but doesn't change the kiss, no matter how much he wants to, doesn't deepen it or take control of it.

"Tim." Whispered into the kiss, against Tim's mouth.

Tim's hands clench in his hair, just a little, and he makes a small, frustrated sound in the back of his throat that Dick can feel more than hear.

Dick tries again, lips brushing against Tim's own as he speaks. "God, I've missed you."

That gets him _teeth_, sharp along the edge of his mouth, and there's enough force that the kiss would've shoved him down onto the bed had he not been paying attention. Instead it just presses them closer, presses Tim up and onto his knees, his hands in Dick's hair pulling his head back for a deeper kiss, hot and a little angry before he eases up.

Tim never likes to be pushed. Never likes to feel anything more than what he wants to feel, and that's just too bad.

Dick doesn't want him thinking that much. He wants to hold him down to the bed and drive him out of his mind.

Tim settles back in his lap, slides his hands out of Dick's hair, down and between them until he can feel Tim's fingers as they tug and pull at his shirt, unbuttoning it and pulling it out of his pants.

As soon as the last button is open Dick shrugs it off, takes his hands off of Tim's skin just long enough to pull the sleeves off too. Tim's hands press flat against his stomach, cool enough to make him shiver. His own hand slides down Tim's smooth thigh, all the way until he reaches the bony curve of his kneecap, and then he curves in, sliding underneath. His fingers brush the thick ribbon laces of the shoes and he moans. Into the kiss and into Tim's mouth, and now, he finally feels like he can move. Like he can act.

He pulls Tim's knee in closer, until it's braced against his side, and then pushes up. Flips them around until Tim's under him and he can kiss him all the way down onto the bed. Nip at his chin and throat--

"Oh." A startled, sucked in breath.

Place a quick, sucking kiss on one little brown nipple, and that gets him a full body writhe and--

"Oh, god."

A _moan_, and that's completely worth exploring, but it'll have to wait. He's got another destination in mind so he keeps on, kissing his way down Tim's smooth stomach until he's on his own knees on the floor, pushing Tim's thighs apart and...

Smooth belly. Smooth legs. He tucks his fingers under the top of the still mind-boggling pair of red underwear, and that, too, is smooth.

That's--

"Smooth..." Dick bites a kiss onto Tim's thigh. "Everywhere, or...?"

Tim is watching him, propped up on his elbows. He's blushing again, dim in the light of the lamp, and that's never going to stop being wonderful. "I shaved my legs, and it-- it just looked silly, I--"

"You. You know you're not getting that shower any time soon, right?" Dick says, tugging at Tim's underwear. Pulling carefully as Tim arches his hips up, he peels it off, stretching it around his shoes and then dropping it to the floor.

Tim's hard. Hard and _wet_ and there's no way that didn't hurt, at least a little.

Dick sits back on his heels and doesn't touch him, just looks, pale skin touched with gold from the bedside lamp, flushed and hard and staring right back at him.

"Dick," he says, and then, "please." He reaches out with his foot, dragging it up Dick's thigh, the heel of the shoe running a sharp line up the middle. Dick catches his foot, hand feeling impossibly large around his ankle, and uses it to pull himself back up onto his knees.

Pushes his legs apart again, bending to press a kiss to the inside of his knee.

Tim is spread out above him, watchful and far too quiet. Dick can't meet his eyes without feeling like something inside him is getting ready to shatter, fragment into a million pieces and fly apart, so he keeps his eyes on Tim's legs. Runs his fingers over the straps of the shoes and follows his hands with his mouth, tracing the difference in texture between the cool, silky ribbon and Tim's warmer, smooth skin.

He feels absurdly solemn. A worshiper at an alter of flesh, whispering prayers into Tim's skin with lips and tongue.

By the time Dick reaches his thighs, Tim is trembling under his hands, straining up against him. Dick feels a little cruel at the amount of time he's spending exploring his legs, his knees, and the thick, ribbon straps at the top of his calves in comparison to the amount of time he's spent simply ignoring everything else. He can't seem to help himself. He needs to mark all of Tim, until he knows every inch of his skin and all the sounds he can make.

"F--fuck."

And everything he can do to make him swear like that. He looks up, soothing the bite mark on the inside of Tim's thigh with his tongue. Tim has his head thrown back, hands balled up in the bedsheets and the flush from his face spilling down his chest, and Dick can add 'likes being bitten' to the list of things he never knew about his little brother before, but if he thinks about _that_ too much he's not going to get very much further.

He's been hard. It becomes more obvious, more _important_, as he moves all the way up onto his knees in order to reach more of Tim's skin, and his pants pull tight around him. Moaning a little into the skin under his mouth, he moves his hands to hold Tim's legs open as he continues his slow quest upwards, fingerprints adding to the litany of marks on his skin.

Tim is shaking by the time Dick reaches the top of his legs. He's still pushed up, though, propped on his elbows and watching Dick through heavy-lidded eyes. There's still far too much control written in every line of taut muscle, in every breath that he purposefully evens out.

Dick wants him incoherent.

He catches Tim's leg under his knee and pulls it up, hooks it over his shoulder so he can pull Tim closer. So he can watch his eyes go wide as Dick's mouth skims up his leg, across the sensitive skin of his sac. Just a brush of his lips, but it pulls a low sound out of Tim, making Dick pause. The heel of Tim's shoe is digging into his back, and Tim's breathing is ragged now, every inhalation a gasp.

Dick smiles and drags his mouth back the other way, barely open against the sensitive skin. Tim was very thorough when he shaved, there's not a single hair anywhere as far as he can tell. He breathes out, deliberately slow, opening his mouth as he moves up this time so that he can lick the smooth skin of his balls all the way up to the base of his dick. Tim collapses above him, his arms finally giving out.

"Oh god, oh fuck."

Dick doesn't want to give him a chance to take any of that control back, so he mouths the base of Tim's erection, kisses his way up the shaft as Tim curses under him. The leg slung across his back is pressing hard against him, and Dick can feel every line and edge of the shoe. Every patch of velvet-plush skin between the straps. When Tim tries to use the leverage to thrust Dick has to catch Tim's slim hips in his hands and hold him down.

"Nngh... I-- Dick, please--"

Lick the head, wet and sticky with pre-come, and Tim thrashes, his hands grabbing at Dick's hair.

"Please. Please," Tim pants, and Dick relents.

He grabs one of the hands in his hair and brings it to Tim's dick, making him catch himself in a loose fist. He looks up, sees Tim's sex-blown eyes, and grins. "Show me," he says.

Tim's hand isn't shaking, but Dick can tell it's only his willpower keeping it that way. He pushes up on his elbow again and meets Dick's gaze, biting down on his bottom lip. His eyes are dark and almost wild in the low light, and Dick can feel himself twitch, feels himself spilling pre-come in his pants.

Tim pulls him in by the leg wrapped around his back, bringing the head of his dick up to Dick's lips. Every breath in and out of Tim's body is a sound now, rhythmic and low and wonderful, and Dick hears it stutter and shake as he paints Dick's lips shiny and slick.

His heart is pounding, a ridiculously loud sound in his ears. He wants this as much as Tim does, he thinks, and as soon as Tim seriously presses the head against his mouth Dick moves, opening up and taking him down. He can feel Tim's leg clamp down on his back in an immediate response, the rough edges of the shoe digging into his bare skin.

Tim moans. Moans for him, and he's so hard that Dick feels momentarily guilty for making him wait so long.

But not _too_ guilty, because all of the waiting, all of the teasing, has left Tim completely unrestrained for this, lets him thrust into Dick's mouth roughly, perfectly. Dick swallows once around him and Tim cries out, sharp and beautiful, before he falls back against the bed again, sliding almost all the way out of his mouth before his hips arch up hard and he comes.

Right in his mouth, and Dick barely gets a taste of him before he crashes back down, slipping all the way out and catching him on the lips, the cheek.

Dick gets to his feet as soon as he can make himself move, crawling onto the bed, straddling one of Tim's thighs and unzipping his own pants. He has them open, his hands in and pushing them down before he registers that Tim is watching him intently. He raises his eyebrows.

Tim smiles, wide and lazy, and this time Dick doesn't have to ask. "I want to watch you." His voice is low and almost sleepy. "I want you to come on me, Dick, please. "

Dick moans, shoving his pants and boxers down until they're around his thighs as far as they'll go. The fact that Dick catches Tim's other leg, pressing it up to his chest, hooking two fingers under the straps of the shoes and holding him down, is more of an afterthought than anything necessary. Tim is a languid, loose-limbed sprawl underneath him, and the only thing that's remotely familiar about him is the way his eyes go sharp and avid when Dick takes himself in hand and starts to stroke.

He's so far gone that his own hand feels amazingly good, and he knows it's not going to last. He leans forward as far as he can, lets go of Tim's leg and braces his hand next to Tim's head, and now he can get close enough to kiss. Can get close enough to--

Have his face licked, rough swipe of tongue against his cheek and a thoughtful little "Hmm" as Tim tastes himself. He licks down to Dick's mouth and _in_, kissing him slow and lazy at first, until Dick moans into his mouth and shoves his tongue in, a rough parody of how he's thrusting into his own hand.

Tim responds eagerly, crushing their mouths together and sucking on his tongue. Dick moans into his mouth, hears it shockingly loud once Tim breaks the kiss, pushing Dick back until he has to shift his knees a little to keep his balance.

"Don't stop," Tim says.

Dick groans, moving his hips, thrusting into his own hand again, and it's not the touch forcing the sound out of his mouth, it's the way Tim's looking at him, bright and considering.

Predatory.

He's thinking.

And that. That's everything. _Says_ everything about Tim. Now that he knows the situation, now that he's _comfortable_, he can take control. Dick feels like laughing but he can't, caught between his own hand and Tim's eyes, and it's taking everything he has not to come from that alone.

"I want to touch you," he finally says, pushing Dick back again until he's sitting on his heels, just far enough away so that Tim can sit up, knock Dick's hand away and wrap his own around him.

"Oh. Oh _yes_."

Tim is practically in his lap, his hand perfect and tight around him, and Dick wonders if this is how he touches himself, knows that it is.

"You're so beautiful," Tim says, his voice thick and low and right in Dick's ear. Dick grunts, thrusting his hips, pushing himself into Tim's hand.

Tim hums, approval and pleasure, and keeps whispering. "Yeah," and "just like that" and Dick's wound so high and tight that all it takes is a twist of Tim's grip, another low and throaty "beautiful" and Dick's coming.

Hard enough to see stars, so good that he all but falls forward. Tim catches him, keeps him braced upright with his own body.

Dick pants, humid against the bare skin of Tim's shoulder, and lets the energy bleed out of him until he can breathe again. He doesn't look up until he hears a strange sound, wet and close to his ear.

Tim has his fingers in his mouth, licking them clean, his eyes closed. Dick can't take it so he tackles Tim down to the bed, his fingers dancing over his sensitive ribs. "You're going to be the death of me," he says as he kicks his pants the rest of the way off, mouth moving against the sweet curve of Tim's throat as he laughs, head thrown back and gasping, every pleased and honest sound warming Dick up inside.

Dick kisses him once he stops laughing. He means it to be quick, a punctuation to Tim's smile, but he can't help but get lost in it.

When he pulls away Tim is looking at him, his expression mild, mouth quirked in a half smile. "Is this the part where we 'talk'?"

“I don’t know, are you coming home?” Dick asks.

"Only for a few days, Dick. I have an appointment to keep on Wednesday, halfway across the world."

"Tim--" This is what he'd been avoiding, what they'd both been blithely refusing to talk about until now.

“I don’t want an argument,” Tim says mildly, “and I’m not looking for a discussion, either. I just want you to trust me.”

“Tim—“

“He’s _alive_, Dick,” Tim says, and there’s so much conviction in his voice that Dick feels dangerously close to believing him. “I can’t explain it, but all the things I’ve seen, all the clues that I know he’s left for me…”

Dick shakes his head. He wants to say something, anything, but he can’t against the crushing weight of disappointment. He was wrong. About Tim, thinking he’d gotten better—

Tim pushes at him, pushes back until they’re sitting up, Tim’s palms flat against his chest.

“Dick, look at me. Do I look crazy?”

He looks the same as Dick remembers him, from happier times or maybe just less complicated ones, and he doesn’t look like he did when he left. He _doesn’t_, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything.

“You were always such a good liar,” Dick says, and then immediately regrets it.

Tim’s smile is quirked and sharp, his eyebrow raised in a way that looks unfamiliar without the cover of a domino mask. “I’ll take that as a compliment, I think,” Tim replies, without an ounce of ill will. In fact he sounds almost cheerful. Dick smiles, and Tim’s own smile softens.

“I just want you to believe me,” Tim says.

Dick wants to. He really, _really _wants to, but he can’t. “I can’t,” he says, and Tim stops smiling. Dick reaches up and covers Tim’s right hand, the one over his heart, with his own. “I can’t because I want to, so damn much. And if I did, then there would be nothing stopping me from coming with you, and I can't do that. I can't leave this damn city."

“Yeah, okay,” Tim says softly.

“But I trust you, you know that, right? I let you go once because you asked me to trust you, and I still do,” Dick swallows, and closes his eyes. “I just—don’t fall of the face of the Earth again, okay? Let me be the person you check in with. Let me know how you are, because that was the worst part, you have no idea—“

Tim cuts him off with a kiss, insistent and needy enough to trip Dick up inside, to make him grab with reckless hands and pull him as close as possible. When Tim pulls away his eyes stay closed, his mouth parted. That one tiny frown line visible in the center of his brow.

"Okay."

"Promise me?"

His eyes open, brilliant, icy blue, and a lopsided smile tugs at his mouth. "I promise."

"Good," Dick says, and kisses him again. When they come up for air Tim is smiling, a little wry, a little rueful.

“So no talk about this, then?” he asks, waving a hand between them.

They probably should. It would be the healthy, well adjusted thing to do, but Dick wants, just this once, to let himself be happy. To live in this one moment and not worry about the future, about all the promises they can and cannot make.

It’s a good thing that neither of them are well adjusted.

“Nope,” Dick agrees, standing up and pulling Tim with him. “Instead we’re going to take a shower, I’m going to wash all that makeup off of you, and then we’re going to do this again.” He watches Tim untie his shoes, kicking them off.

“Yeah?”

“Yep.”

“Thank God,” Tim says, obviously relieved.

Dick swats him on the ass as he hurries to the bathroom, still anxious to get that shower.

“Just so you know, I am going to buy you so many pairs of amazing boots,” Dick says, following the sound of Tim’s laughter as the shower turns on.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Tumblr @ [merelymine](http://merelymine.tumblr.com)


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